


Changing Shapes

by stardropdream



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Developing Relationship, Facials, M/M, Massage, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Yuuri thinks about kissing Victor again and starting over from square one. But Yuuri knows that Victor’s stamina isn’t as robust as Yuuri’s own, and he doesn’t quite feel bold enough to make demands while in Victor’s bed.  But now that Yuuri is getting semi-regular sex, he finds that he really can’t stop thinking about it most of the time. It is, frankly, rather embarrassing. But also exhilarating to think that, somehow, Victor wants him. That, somehow, Victor is just as enthusiastic about sleeping with Yuuri, despite Yuuri’s complete lack of experience.Or: that one time Yuuri discovered that he really likes Victor coming on him and doesn't know how to tell him.





	Changing Shapes

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself to just write a quick pwp and then of course I had to have the Unnecessary Build Up to the pwp and then it got out of hand, so if you're thinking to yourself, "Is this just nearly 15k words just to get to some facials?" the answer is yes, yes it is.

Yuuri lets out a soft gasp that night as they’re soaking in the onsen after a particularly difficult practice. He flinches and stiffens up. He can see that Victor’s concerned, because he turns his head towards him and frowns. 

“Yuuri?” he prompts. 

Yuuri shakes his head and hisses out through his teeth, hunching over to reach his hand down and grasp his calf. The muscle’s knotted up, a pulsing spike of pain and it’s difficult to move. He knows that he needs to breathe – this is not the first time this has happened in his life, as a professional athlete – but it’s difficult to force the breath, his jaw clenched up. He presses into the knotted muscle, a visible bulge at his calf, trying to coax it into relaxing. He should have known this would happen – his muscles have been twinging the last few days and that’s always the telltale sign of a lactic acid buildup. 

The water shifts a little, ripples sending outward towards Yuuri as Victor moves closer towards him, frowning – visibly concerned. 

“My leg,” Yuuri grits out, and then adds since that’s a horrendously inadequate way to describe the problem, “Cramp.” 

Victor makes a sound – of sympathy, of understanding, Yuuri isn’t sure – and reaches out, his hand trailing down Yuuri’s thigh and over his shin. Not touching the actual knotted muscles, but waiting for Yuuri to move his hand aside so he can. 

Yuuri heaves a sharp breath and leans back, forcing himself to breathe and to stretch his leg out. Victor cups the back of his calf and lifts and Yuuri flinches again. Victor starts slow, kneading once at the edge of the site of most pain, and works his way inward. 

Slowly, with time or with Victor’s attention, the pain starts to ebb, the muscle slowly unknotting. Yuuri’s leg feels tight and it’ll be sore all through tomorrow. But it’s better now. Yuuri breathes out a sigh. 

Victor keeps his hands on his leg, frowning for a moment before turning to look at Yuuri. 

“You need to stay more hydrated,” he tells him and Yuuri nods. He knows he’s right. 

“The onsen helps,” he says. It’s true, the natural minerals in the water helps for healing – that’s always been the case – and just relaxing in the water will help. 

Victor hums, and settles more comfortably in the spot close to Yuuri, rather than his usual spot across the pool from him. Yuuri finds that he doesn’t mind – has gotten a little used to Victor being so close, to sharing so much space with him. Victor is still so much larger than life, and despite the couple of months they’ve been working together, Yuuri still finds himself a little starstruck sometimes. 

“Give me your other leg,” Victor says, and the water jostles a little as he actually pats his lap beneath the water. 

Now Yuuri knows he’s blushing, but at least the heat from the onsen and the relative warmth of the late spring can hide that fact. He murmurs a quiet agreement, shifting so he’s leaning back again and lifts his leg up into Victor’s lap. 

And that’s how Yuuri finds himself sitting naked in the onsen with his coach massaging his leg. 

“It won’t do if you get another cramp,” Victor says cheerfully, kneading his knuckles first into Yuuri’s calf and then his shin, down towards his ankle and squeezing the arch of his foot. Yuuri breathes slowly through his nose and tries very desperately not to start hyperventilating or, worse, get hard while naked with Victor sitting right there. 

Yuuri nods, stiffly. 

Victor continues, “We’ll go easier on the jumps tomorrow.” 

That makes Yuuri bristle, the protest on the tip of his tongue, except Victor slants him a look, his eyes that impossible blue and silver hair in his face and stuck to his sweaty forehead and he really has no business looking so devastating when Yuuri knows he looks disgusting after such a long, trying day of practice. Victor’s hands are merciless as they dig into Yuuri’s calf and Yuuri hisses.

“Breathe,” Victor orders, in that voice that leaves no room for argument – that assessing, commanding tone he uses when he’s picking apart Yuuri’s routines for faults and missteps. Yuuri is proud of himself that he doesn’t actually shiver. 

And he does breathe. Slowly, purposefully. 

The rest of the soak passes in silence – Victor running his hands down Yuuri’s uncramped leg, from arch of his foot to his thigh and quads, then switching to the other leg and doing the same. The closer Victor’s hands creep up his legs, the more Yuuri feels flushed and embarrassed. He also realizes that he’s tragically unused to someone touching his legs, especially his thighs – he finds his body tensing up when Victor’s touch is too gentle and it actually tickles. 

Victor, for his part, doesn’t say anything – doesn’t tease him, doesn’t demand anything. He seems utterly focused on his self-assigned task, massaging Yuuri’s thighs with a kind of focus that he usually devotes to skating. He doesn’t stop until Yuuri does actually relax and his muscles feel warm and pliant, comfortable enough that Yuuri isn’t actually worrying about whether he’ll be affected by Victor’s touch. 

“There,” Victor says, long after the onsen’s closed and the bathers in the indoor baths have long since left. Victor smiles to himself, seemingly pleased with how boneless Yuuri’s gone. “Tonight, use an ice pack and then a heating pad and we’ll look to see how you are in the morning.”

“It really isn’t anything serious,” Yuuri protests weakly, remembering that Victor’s already mentioned cutting back on jumps tomorrow and wanting to eliminate that decision as quickly as possible. He flexes his toes, and stretches out his legs so that they float a little in the water, planked out in front of him. He looks at Victor. “I just need to drink more water.”

Victor hums and says, cheerfully, “Ice pack and then heating pad, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri sighs, frustrated. “Yes, _coach._ ” 

Devastatingly, when they do finally leave the onsen and head back towards their rooms, Yuuri has the slightest little limp. He tries to hide it, but he knows that Victor’s noticed it by the twist of his mouth. 

Yuuri’s getting dressed down for bed when Victor knocks on the door and cheerfully calls out to him that he has both Makkachin and an ice pack. He bustles in soon after that and Yuuri’s glad he managed to get his sleeping shirt on before that. Victor moves like a hurricane, bustling around the small, suddenly rather suffocating space of Yuuri’s bedroom – and it takes very little effort on Victor’s part to get Yuuri stretched out on his stomach on his bed, his sweatpants rolled up to his knee and Victor pressing an ice pack to the throbbing muscle. 

Yuuri thinks that’ll be the end of it, Makkachin stretched out between Yuuri and his bedroom’s wall, dozing with the occasional wag of his tail or twitch of his paw. But then Victor sits on the floor and leans his back against Yuuri’s bed, pulls out his phone, and starts browsing through Instagram. 

“Victor,” Yuuri begins. 

“You need to keep that pack on for twenty minutes,” Victor says, “Then we’ll switch to heat.” 

Yuuri sighs and accepts Victor’s presence in Yuuri’s tragically tiny bedroom. He shifts a little, getting comfortable, tucking one arm under his pillow and turning his head to watch Victor idly. At this angle, it’s really seeing the line of Victor’s jaw flex as he smiles or hums thoughtfully. The shape of his ear is a little distracting, actually. Yuuri has the sudden urge to touch it. He watches Victor scroll through Instagram, liking the occasional post but otherwise clearly wasting twenty minutes worth of time. 

Yuuri sighs and wishes he’d grabbed his phone before lying down. But he doubts that Victor will let him get up now. 

“Talk to me?” he asks before he can second-guess it. Victor tilts his head back, his hair spilling over his forehead and onto Yuuri’s bedsheets. It’s utterly distracting. 

“About what?” Victor asks. 

Yuuri sighs. “Anything. Waiting around like this is always… I just don’t like my mind wandering.” 

Victor’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile. “You know, Yakov would have made me take an ice bath?” 

Yuuri makes a mournful sound on Victor’s behalf. “For just a cramp?” 

“Well,” Victor hums. “I had a tendency to push through it, and it’d mean putting more pressure on my knee and sometimes my hip.” 

Yuuri nods absently. He’s heard Victor’s hip pop rather loudly sometimes when they’re practicing. 

“So he’d make me take an ice bath for all of that,” Victor says with a sigh that’s just the touch overdramatic – completely ruined by the small smile on Victor’s lips. 

Yuuri’s mouth twitches into a smile to match Victor’s. “Celestino made me take one once. Once was enough.” 

Victor laughs – and it’s an intoxicating sound. Yuuri remembers being jealous of Yurio, when he first came here – how easily he got along with Victor, how natural it felt and how not starstruck he’d been. How envious Yuuri had felt in that moment, that Yurio could be so comfortable around Victor. 

Now, Victor sits in his room, laughing, and Yuuri only blushes rather than hyperventilates. Victor’s laughter fades a little and he ducks his head to set his phone aside on the floor, and then turns so he’s sitting on his knees and facing Yuuri on his bed. His eyes are bright, amused. It’s a gentle look on him – one that Yuuri finds he likes quite a bit. 

“It is rather horrible,” Victor agrees. Then sobers briefly to say, “But necessary.” 

“Yes, coach,” Yuuri teases before he can stop himself. He flushes. 

“How does it feel right now?” Victor asks, leaning to fold his arms on the side of the bed, resting his chin on his forearms and watching Yuuri’s face. He always has this tendency to stare so carefully at Yuuri, studying him, like he’s trying to puzzle him apart. It’s unnerving to be on the receiving end of such intense attention. It’s also, Yuuri’s found, exhilarating – he always wants Victor’s eyes on him. He always wants Victor to be looking at him, even in these quiet moments. 

“Cold,” Yuuri tells him and smiles a little when Victor laughs again. 

“Besides that,” he insists. 

“Better,” Yuuri amends. 

Victor tilts his head. “It doesn’t feel like it’s burning or anything like that?” 

“No,” Yuuri answers. Victor had wrapped the ice pack in a towel, which helps to offset the sharp bite of ice to skin. “I’m alright. Thank you, Victor.” 

“Good,” Victor answers, voice a little quieter. “You still have a few minutes left. Then we’ll switch to the heat.” 

Yuuri nods. They lapse into a pleasant silence – one that doesn’t actually feel awkward, miraculously. Yuuri’s glad for that. Still, sitting like this, they’re just looking at each other – Yuuri studying Victor’s face, soft and warm after their bath. Victor studying Yuuri. Yuuri wonders what he sees, looking at him so intensely. 

Lost in thought, Yuuri reaches out his hand that’s not tucked under the pillow and touches Victor’s hair, brushing it away from his eyes. Victor doesn’t immediately react, aside from his eyes widening just the slightest bit – blink and you’ll miss it kind of subtle – and Yuuri doesn’t remember to feel embarrassed, just feeling how thin and soft Victor’s hair is. 

And just as easily, he draws his hand back, lets it rest on the bed between them. They keep watching each other. Victor’s hair falls back to its original place, over one eye. But Victor’s eyes seem softer now, despite the harsh lighting in Yuuri’s room. Yuuri could look at him forever. 

“Did I push you too hard today?” Victor asks. “Tell me honestly.” 

Yuuri’s first thought is to say no, to insist that he can take more, that he needs to keep practicing those jumps in order to be ready for the Cup of China. But he pauses, and considers – to take the question seriously and honestly. 

He knows the answer, though. “No,” he answers. “I just… like I said. I need to drink more water during breaks.” 

Victor nods. “We’ll get you a bigger water bottle.” 

Victor pauses. Then he lifts his hand and, like Yuuri before, brushes his fingers through Yuuri’s hair – brushing it away from Yuuri’s face. Yuuri feels his face heat up, his breath stuttering for half a moment. Victor’s hand is heavy and warm and Yuuri wants Victor to just keep touching him, especially when his nails accidentally scritch across his scalp and it’s painfully luxurious. 

And then the twenty minute alarm Victor set goes off on his phone. It isn’t loud, but it’s jarring enough that Yuuri startles and Makkachin lets out an annoyed _boof_ behind Yuuri as he’s rattled from his dog doze. 

“Oh,” Victor says, withdrawing his hand and swiping on his phone to dismiss the timer. Then he turns and lifts the ice pack from Yuuri’s pinked skin. He runs his hand over Yuuri’s calf, assessing. “Alright,” he says as Yuuri shivers beneath Victor’s touch and hopes he thinks it just from the ice, “Time for the heat pad.” 

He uncoils the cord for the heating pad and looks around Yuuri’s room for the closest plug-in. 

“On the wall under the bed,” Yuuri supplies. 

Victor pauses, assessing where Makkachin is curled up against the wall. Yuuri watches him mentally weigh his options before he sighs and squirms down onto his stomach and scoots underneath Yuuri’s bed rather than push Makkachin aside to get at the plug from the top of the bed. Yuuri is met with the rather undignified sight of Victor squirming around like a fool on the floor of his bedroom, ass definitely wiggling. 

Yuuri huffs out a soft laugh and Victor mumbles out a reply beneath the bed. There’s a thumping sound as Victor hits his head on the bed and then the string of surprise in Russian. When Victor finally remerges fully, he has the heat pad plugged in and already starting to warm up. Yuuri gives him an indulgent smile at his return. 

Once the heating pad is situated nicely on Yuuri’s leg and Victor’s set another twenty minute alarm, they settle back into their position from before – Victor folding his arms on the bed and Yuuri settling onto his pillow. 

The heat pad is much more pleasant and soon Yuuri feels himself relaxing, eyes half-lidded and feeling floaty and peaceful. Victor seems tired, too, cheek cushioned against his forearms again, squishing up towards his eye. 

Yuuri finds himself laughing, before he can hold it back. 

“Mm?” Victor hums out in question.

“Nothing,” Yuuri answers, voice soft. “You just look…”

Victor blinks a few times as Yuuri trails off. He lifts his head a fraction, thoughtful. Yuuri doesn’t think he’s insulted – at least, he hopes not. Yuuri reaches out and threads his fingers through his hair. 

Victor’s lips part, briefly, and he looks as if he’ll say something. And then seems to second-guess it and shifts closer towards Yuuri so the angle on Yuuri’s wrist isn’t as awkward. He settles on the side of the bed and Yuuri cards his fingers through Victor’s hair. They spend the next twenty minutes silently, Yuuri petting his fingers through Victor’s hair, an absent, unembarrassed movement. Yuuri’s impressed with himself that, despite his flushed cheeks, he doesn’t get too nervous with such a small gesture. It helps that Victor closes his eyes a few minutes in and just sighs out, luxuriating and pleased. 

The alarm chirps back to life – quieter this time since Victor turned the volume on his phone down. Yuuri sighs, his hand lingering in Victor’s hair even as Victor lifts up. 

“Alright,” Victor says, heaving a sigh. “Now twenty minutes of rest and we’ll go back to the ice.” 

Yuuri grunts, and then mourns a little when Victor moves away from his hand’s reach, moving to take the heating pad off and set it aside, then picks up some ointment. Yuuri watches, perplexed, as Victor lifts himself up onto Yuuri’s bed – a strange thought, Victor sitting on his bed, being here in his room and _on his bed_ – and settles at Yuuri’s feet. Somewhere in the distant past, Yuuri’s fifteen-year-old self is terrified and thrilled. 

“Turn over,” he tells Yuuri, and Yuuri does so – mindful not to move too much and disturb Makkachin, who’s deep enough into sleep that he’s snoring a little. Victor picks up Yuuri’s feet and places them in his lap. He unscrews the cap for the ointment, slicks up his hands, and then reaches for Yuuri’s calf. 

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers as Victor starts to massage his calf. “Victor, you really don’t—”

“Better safe than sorry,” Victor tells him, fingers digging into his sore muscles. “This is the kind that heats up, too.”

He seems so pleased with this fact that Yuuri doesn’t have the heart to protest. He props himself up a little onto his elbows to watch him. Victor has his head bowed, focused on the task at hand. Victor starts on Yuuri’s calf and digs his fingers into the muscle, trails down over his Achilles tendon. It feels good. It feels _really_ good, if Yuuri’s honest. 

As Victor works, the ointment starts to warm up, and it’s like the heating pad hasn’t left at all. Yuuri sighs out, expression relaxed and open, smiling. Victor glances up at him and his hands pause for a moment – just looking at Yuuri. Yuuri smiles at him, cheeks rosy – hoping Victor knows how thankful he is for this attention. Slightly mortified, too, perhaps – that Victor would have to waste so much of his evening on Yuuri. But grateful all the same. 

There’s this weight between them, something unspoken but unspeakably there. It’s been brewing for months, ever since Victor first came to Hasetsu. Yuuri knows this. He’s very aware of it in this moment. 

Then Victor shifts, kneads into Yuuri’s foot – and Yuuri sighs out and actually arches a little and lets out a soft, hitching breath. He’s horrified as he does it – dropping back down onto the bed with slightly widened eyes, his entire face heating up. Victor’s staring at him with wide eyes, hands on his foot. 

“E- excuse me,” Yuuri whispers, and would be running for the hills if Victor didn’t have him trapped by his foot. 

Victor looks at him for a moment and Yuuri watches the way pink slowly blooms over his cheeks and across his nose. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Victor look flushed from something that isn’t the onsen’s waters. 

“It’s alright, Yuuri,” Victor says after a moment, clearly recovering. “I’m glad it’s helping.” He grins then, looking pleased. “I’m really very good, aren’t I?” 

“Y… Yeah,” Yuuri says, voice hushed. 

They lapse into silence again. When Victor hits a particularly good spot, Yuuri makes sure to bite his lip hard to keep from making more embarrassing noises. 

“There,” Victor says, once he’s done with both of Yuuri’s legs – well after the alarm’s chirped insistently on Victor’s phone and he’s staunchly ignored it. He runs his hands up Yuuri’s shins, just an idle touch that sets Yuuri’s blood on fire. “All better,” he says, pleased. “How do you feel, Yuuri?” 

Yuuri nods before Victor’s even done asking the question. “Better. Thank you, Victor.” 

Victor looks pleased, lips quirked up into a tiny smile. They look at each other for a long moment – that long stretch of _now what_. Yuuri figures he should keep icing and heating, but he feels so pliant, so happy. Victor is in his room, on his bed, his hands on him. 

Makkachin _woofs_ softly beside them, paws and nose twitching. 

“I should let you rest,” Victor says. And then doesn’t move. 

Yuuri doesn’t move, either. He isn’t sure if he can move. He looks at Victor. Victor looks back at him. 

Yuuri licks his lips. “Or…”

“Or?” Victor parrots, and sounds hopeful. 

Yuuri steadies his breath and sits up a little – with some effort – so that he’s facing Victor properly. Yuuri isn’t sure what he’s doing, really – movement purely fueled on by the utter relaxation and contentment he feels, fueled on by having Victor’s hands on him for well over the twenty minutes. His feet shift in Victor’s lap – brushes, Yuuri’s certain, a half-hard cock – before leaving his lap completely and folding beneath Yuuri as he moves closer towards Victor.

Victor, for his part, doesn’t move – doesn’t appear to even be breathing. Up close, there’s a definite flush to his cheeks, his mouth parting a little as he watches Yuuri come closer. Yuuri moves slowly, slow enough for his brain to catch up to him if he lets it, slow enough that Victor can pull away or look away or shift away. He doesn’t. He stares at Yuuri, his eyes burning despite the impossible blue. 

Yuuri isn’t sure where this strange calm has come from, but he doesn’t want to question it, doesn’t want to question this semblance of confidence he feels as he reaches out and plants his hands on Victor’s shoulders and then leans in to kiss him. 

As soon as he kisses him, Yuuri really has to wonder why he hasn’t been doing this from the start, since the very moment Victor arrived to Hasetsu. Victor actually gasps a little, but before Yuuri can draw back, Victor pitches forward and slants his mouth fully against Yuuri’s. 

He kisses him sharply – and by all means, it’s hardly a good kiss on Yuuri’s part, he thinks, so painfully under practiced and inexperienced. But he’s determined, and he hates to lose, and he doesn’t want to give up – and Victor makes a soft, rattling sound in the back of his throat as Yuuri presses closer and kisses him. So Yuuri keeps kissing him. Again and again. He feels the curve of Victor’s disbelieving smile against his mouth. 

The terror does come back to Yuuri, though, and he pulls back with a soft breath – staring at Victor with wide eyes.

Victor is staring at him like he’s drowning, his eyes wide before softening, his face flushed, his hands on Yuuri’s waist. 

“Yuuri,” he whispers, like it is the only word he knows how to say. Some hidden thrill twists up inside of Yuuri. He can’t look away. Victor licks his lips and Yuuri _stares_. Victor says, somewhat helplessly, “Your leg…” 

Yuuri doesn’t even glance down at his legs – he can feel the sore ache of his muscles, but he doesn’t care. He bites his lip – watches the way Victor is the one, this time, to stare at his mouth – and then takes a deep breath, trying to summon up the confidence. He grasps helplessly at the feelings he embodies when he’s skating _Eros_ , tries to translate it to this moment. Wants – needs Victor closer. Scoots a little closer towards him, using his hold on Victor’s shoulders for balance. 

He pauses – and then shifts so his arms curl around Victor’s neck, one hand curling up into his hair. They’re pressed chest to chest now, and so Yuuri feels the swell of Victor’s breath as he inhales, Yuuri so close to him now. Yuuri tips his head forward, presses their foreheads together. Victor’s hands squeeze at his waist and then move, curling around him, too, supporting him and his hands splayed across his back. 

“Makkachin’s sleeping,” Victor says, and then seems to blush a little at the inanity of the comment.

“Mm,” Yuuri hums out, his fingers petting through the short hairs at the nape of Victor’s neck. Now that he’s touching him, he finds it very difficult to stop. It seems the right thing to do, if only for the helpless way Victor stares at him. 

“Yuuri, you’re…” Victor whispers. He trails off, staring at Yuuri. 

“Yes?” Yuuri prompts. 

“… You’re so beautiful,” Victor finishes, and then gives him that same helpless smile as before. 

Yuuri blushes, doesn’t know how to protest against this. So he just nods, stroking his fingers along the dip of Victor’s neck, following his spine. 

Victor shifts forward, as if to kiss him again – but pauses before making the connection, waiting. Yuuri’s eyes flicker, his breath stuttering in his chest. Victor, like this –

Meeting him where he is. He curls his fingers up into his hair and leans forward – can’t help but kiss Victor again and again, drown in him, sink into him. Victor’s hold around him tightens. Yuuri has never felt so relaxed. 

His leg is sore and aching, though, and that’s the reason why he shifts forward and settles into Victor’s lap. The only reason, surely. Victor’s breath hitches between their kiss but Yuuri powers through it, cups Victor’s cheeks and kisses him hard, unsure what to do, unsure if he’s doing it right, but motivated by the soft sounds that Victor makes, the way he responds rather enthusiastically. 

Yuuri doesn’t mean to, not really, means to only keep kissing him – but as he shifts closer, their hips rock together and Yuuri really, truly feels Victor. He breaks the kiss with a quiet gasp and Victor is quick to lean back, mouth open to apologize, to reassure Yuuri – Yuuri knows he will, knows he’ll downplay it, dismiss it, seek to reassure Yuuri. 

Yuuri tightens his hold on Victor’s hair, makes a fist – chases after him and kisses him harder, more pointedly. Rocks his hips forward again and swallows the gasp as it leaves Victor’s mouth. 

“Yuuri,” Victor gasps out. 

With a small nod, Yuuri presses closer. Victor scrambles to meet him, even tentatively rocks his hips up, and Yuuri realizes he’s getting hard, too, that he’s intoxicated on the feeling of Victor moving under him, pressing up to meet him, hands flexing against his back. He bites at Victor’s lip, drags himself closer to him. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says again, breaking the kiss. “Makkachin.” 

Yuuri knows he’s right, glancing over his shoulder to where Makkachin has sprawled out quite happily on the bed, snoring little dog snores. He turns back to see Victor assessing him, likely certain that Yuuri will come back to his senses and say goodnight.

Instead, Yuuri leans in close again, nose brushing to Victor’s and whispers, “Take me to your room, then.” 

“ _Oh,_ ” Victor gasps out, and does not need to be told twice. Yuuri’s left reeling over where, again, his confidence has come from – and is soon distracted from that when Victor scrambles to get out of bed without just outright shoving Yuuri out of his lap. He even leans down as if he’s going to carry Yuuri. 

“Victor—!” Yuuri starts to protest, eyes flying wide open. He tries to get out of his grasp, embarrassed, worried he’d be too heavy, _knows_ he’s too heavy they’re too close in height. 

They stumble across Yuuri’s room and rattle into the desk when Victor does trip over Yuuri’s weight. The desk thumps hard against the wall and some of Yuuri’s supplies rattle along the desk, a few paperclips falling off the surface and to the floor. Makkachin _woof_ s from the bed but is otherwise not disturbed, which is good since Yuuri’s reaction to the sudden detour is to start giggling and duck his head against Victor’s chest. He hears the rumble of Victor’s laughter, too. 

“Sorry,” Victor says, but doesn’t sound overly embarrassed. “Should I try again?” 

“Maybe I should carry you, instead,” Yuuri laughs, feeling helpless and bubbly and intoxicated on this – hard and flushed and pressed against Victor, who has his arms wrapped around him and refuses to let go. 

Victor barks out a small laugh and Yuuri even curls his arms tight around Victor’s middle and manages to pick him up off the ground a few inches and stumble his way across his bedroom, groping blindly for the door. His leg protests wildly at this ridiculousness, and they end up crashing into the far wall outside in the hallway, the window rattling as Victor ducks his head and catches Yuuri’s mouth, kissing him breathless. 

They settle for just stumbling into Victor’s room rather than try to out-carry one another, and Yuuri tips forward after Victor as Victor sprawls out beneath him on the bed. His leg is definitely aching now and he’ll regret that in the morning, but he hopes he won’t regret this – pressing down against Victor and kissing him as Victor inches Yuuri’s shirt up his back, exposing the line of his spine, the flex of his muscles at his stomach. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers a few times between kisses, sounding reverent. 

Yuuri’s never done this before, not really, and it’s strange – it’s almost as if he’s outside his body and watching him move, watching him kiss Victor. And it’s Victor, of all people, who is splayed out beneath him. It’s Victor who’s touching his exposed skin, slowly pulling Yuuri’s shirt up over his head. It’s Victor who’s smiling at him, lips kiss-swollen and face flushed and pinked at the apples of his cheeks. It’s Victor’s cock that he feels pressing against his hip. It’s the shadow of the burn left in the ointment in his leg, left there by Victor’s hands kneading into his skin. It’s his body humming with just _Victor._ It’s suffocating. He wants Victor to always be touching him, to always feel the shadowing burn of Victor’s hands on him, of Victor left on his skin. 

Which might be why he doesn’t know quite what to do when with a simple plea of, “Let me take care of you, Yuuri—” Yuuri finds himself sprawled out beneath Victor now, naked and body shaking a little, his hands gripping Victor’s hair as Victor ducks down and drags his tongue over Yuuri’s cock. 

He’s never felt that before and it’s different and new and overwhelming and Yuuri full-body shudders as Victor kisses the head of Yuuri’s cock, his hands cupping the back of Yuuri’s thighs gently and guiding his legs up to drape over Victor’s broad, strong shoulders. And he’s naked, too, and he’s so beautiful, achingly beautiful and all Yuuri wants to do is stare at him, to feel him, to watch him like this—

It’s mesmerizing, to watch the dart of Victor’s tongue, the pillow of his lips against Yuuri’s cock as he lays worship to him, laves his tongue and curls his lips around his cockhead. It’s extremely difficult to breathe and even more difficult to not thrust up into Victor’s mouth. Yuuri’s legs tremble at Victor’s shoulders, flexing and trying to relax. But he’s overwhelmed, unsure what he should be doing, unsure how to respond. He’s in his childhood home, his family’s inn, and Victor has his cock in his mouth and Yuuri is trying so desperately to be quiet. 

“Oh,” Yuuri hiccups out, his chest heaving as Victor swallows around him, bobs his head down and takes Yuuri halfway into his mouth. Victor’s cheek distends and Yuuri, for a brief moment, can see his cock slide along the inside of Victor’s cheek and _that_ – oh, that is almost too much entirely. The bow of Victor’s head, the exposure of his nape as he ducks his head down and swallows around Yuuri, milks him, slides his tongue along the underside of his cock, his hands sliding over Yuuri’s thighs, his hips, one hand drifting back to knead at his sore muscle until Yuuri gasps and then moans, loud and unhindered, before he clamps down on his bottom lip again. 

Now that he finds himself in this moment, he finds that having sex with Victor is surprisingly easy. He hadn’t let himself think about it, nothing seriously – a passing thought that’s floated into his mind off and on over the years, since being a fan of Victor’s and hitting puberty, really. But like this, spread out, he can believe himself beautiful, if only for a moment – the way that Victor touches him, hums around him, smiles at him like he can do no wrong. It’s a strange sort of power, to have Victor stretched out across his own bed between Yuuri’s legs while Yuuri leans back against Victor’s many pillows, after spending the evening with Victor’s hands on him, helping him, pampering him, doing everything for _Yuuri_. And like this, it’s another thing just for Yuuri, and Yuuri thinks, with a thrill, that he is the one to see Victor like this in this moment. 

He flexes his hands in Victor’s hair, tugs a little, pulls him in closer. Victor practically _keens_ in pleasure, squirming to get closer, to swallow down around Yuuri. His lips curve up into an open smile as he suckles around Yuuri’s cock. He tries to dip down further, tries to swallow all of Yuuri, to drag his nose across Yuuri’s navel, Yuuri’s cock buried deep in his mouth – but he has to pull back with a soft gag, taking too much at once. Yuuri watches, mesmerized and trembling. 

“Victor,” he gasps out, and Victor flickers his eyes up to look at him. They lock eyes, Yuuri moving one hand to push the hair from Victor’s face – and he never would have guessed this would be how the evening ends, with Victor staring at him with such open affection and wonder, with a cock heavy on his tongue. 

Victor draws away from his cock, pressing a few sloppy kisses to Yuuri’s inner thigh. Yuuri huffs out heavy breaths, watching him, watches as Victor ducks his head and licks past his cock, past his balls, and licks further down. That, more than anything else, is what gets Yuuri to shout – and come with a soft gasp around Victor’s lazily stroking fist, coming across his stomach. 

He’s trembling when he’s done, the orgasm surprising him. He blinks first up that the ceiling, feeling fuzzy and dreamy, before he tips his head down and watches Victor, who has his cheek resting against one of Yuuri’s thighs, watching him in a quiet kind of wonder, stroking Yuuri until he’s spent and softening in his hand. 

“Wow,” Victor whispers, and then smiles widely at Yuuri – his expression open and warm and glowing. Yuuri feels overwhelmed, still riding the cresting waves of pleasure, boneless and spent and uncertain what to do. He feels a stir of pleasure and mortification both in knowing that Victor just watched him come, that he’s looking at him so gently now. 

“Oh,” Yuuri hiccups again, and lets go of Victor’s hair to reach for him instead. “Let me – should I – ?” 

Victor’s smile turns lopsided and he scoots up closer towards Yuuri, lifting the hand that wasn’t touching Yuuri’s cock and showing Yuuri – it’s sticky and slick. Victor looks a little embarrassed, cheeks flushed. 

“I couldn’t last,” he tells him, apologetic. Yuuri feels a spike of terror – knowing that he couldn’t even reciprocate the favor for Victor, that he was so absorbed in himself that he didn’t even get a chance to see or feel Victor come. Victor’s hand is covered in his come. Yuuri’s stomach is covered in his come. 

He looks down at himself and strokes his hand over his stomach absently, cleaning himself up. He can feel Victor’s gaze burning into him and really now that the sex is over, Yuuri thinks he should be dying of embarrassment – but he still feels that same relaxing calm. He cleans himself off and looks at the come on his fingers.

Then he reaches out and takes Victor’s hand, threading their fingers together and tugs him down. Victor goes willingly, dipping his head to kiss Yuuri sweetly. There’s something primal that stirs inside him as Victor slowly presses down against him and they kiss. The come is gone from his stomach, but it still feels sticky, still itches a little, and now Victor’s stomach is pressed against his own. He doesn’t let go of Victor’s hand, feels the slide of his come sliding with Victor’s. 

When they draw away from the kiss, Yuuri tilts his head, glancing away – knows he won’t be able to look at Victor when he does that – and slides his fingers around Victor’s wrist and tugs his hand up, taking two of Victor’s fingers into his mouth and suckling absently, tongue curling, cleaning him off.

“Yuuri,” Victor chokes out and then goes very quiet, his breathing hushed and hitching. Yuuri takes that as a good sign but also knows he can’t look at him. He licks away the come, wants to taste Victor, wants to taste Victor mixed with him – wrinkles his nose a little at the taste but grows used to it, his heart pounding, his cheeks flushed. He licks at each of Victor’s fingers even long after his palm is clean. 

When he does dare look at Victor again, Victor’s pupils are blown wide, his mouth open as he breathes out in short huffs. 

“ _Yuuri,_ ” he croaks, strained. 

“Yes?” Yuuri whispers, once he draws away – not letting go of Victor’s hand. 

It’s just as well. Victor threads their fingers together and pins it down over Yuuri’s head, leaning in to kiss him gently. “Stay here tonight?” 

Yuuri breathes out, shaky, finds that he’s been waiting for that, terrified he’d have to slink back to his own room. He nods, and kisses Victor again. 

 

-

 

Yuuri isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but he must have, because the next time he’s aware of where he is, it’s morning. He can hear the birds outside, can hear the distant murmurs of a household waking up, the smells wafting up from the kitchen. Yuuri slowly comes back to consciousness and stiffens up a little, uncertain. He doesn’t know what the protocol on all this is. In the harsh light of day, he’s vividly aware of everything from last night. He’s vividly aware that he’s meant to practice today, that he and Victor are still working in close proximity together. 

He slowly opens his eyes, terrified of what he’ll see. He’s met with Victor’s hip. He shifts a little and glances up. Victor is in bed, still naked, Yuuri thinks distantly. He’s sitting up and scrolling through his phone. He’s frowning a little, looking so very serious and Yuuri’s heart patters in his chest, terrified that he’s done some sort of faux pas by sleeping in longer, or by staying at all, that he should have woken up and left in the night.

It’s during these thoughts that Victor turns his head and catches sight of Yuuri with his eyes open. There’s a brief moment when Yuuri is terrified, but Victor’s face morphs as he recognizes that Yuuri is awake and his smile blooms wide and open.

“Yuuri, good morning!” he chirps out brightly, eyes bright and smile brighter. 

“G- good morning,” Yuuri whispers, still huddled under the blanket, very aware of how naked he still is, too. 

Victor sets his phone down and flops down so that he’s lying on his side and facing Yuuri, grinning at him. Yuuri flushes but doesn’t protest as Victor leans in and catches Yuuri’s mouth in a soft, morning-sour kiss. Somehow it’s unbearably sweet and Yuuri feels some of the tension bleed from his shoulders. 

They linger. When Victor draws back, his voice is soft but still laced with unruly morning cheer. He asks, “How’s your leg?” 

Yuuri nods a little but then he stretches his legs out and feels the slightest twinge in his leg, muscles protesting at the unexpected stretch. 

Victor frowns thoughtfully. “We’ll take it easy on the jumps today, yes.” 

Yuuri wants to protest. “But—”

“Listen to your coach, Yuuri,” Victor scolds and Yuuri purses his lips together. Victor softens a little and leans in again, pressing their foreheads together. Yuuri hushes his breath, looking at Victor as he looks back. Victor says, softly, “Yuuri…” 

Yuuri knows there is a question posed. He swallows down, knows he doesn’t have the words, and so he lifts his hand and touches Victor’s cheek, and draws him in the rest of the way – kissing him softly, chaste and light. 

His mind flashes through the night before – the way Victor looked at him, the sounds he made, the slide of their hands together, the pleasant itch of come across his stomach. 

He wants to do it again. 

Victor smiles into the kiss and nibbles gently at Yuuri’s lip. They don’t kiss for too much longer, since Victor draws back with a thoughtful hum – but seems more settled than a moment ago, less manic, less aggressively cheerful. 

“Ice your leg during breakfast before we set out for practice. Then you should ice it during lunch, and this evening as well.” 

“Okay,” Yuuri agrees. He feels it’s slightly excessive, but better safe than sorry, he supposes – and if it will appease Victor, he might as well. 

“Now then… breakfast?” Victor asks, pulling away slowly from Yuuri and sitting up. “Ah, and I should really give Makkachin his breakfast.” 

Yuuri nods a little, sitting up with him. He watches idly as Victor leaves the bed, completely unashamed of his nakedness as he moves around the room, picking out his clothes for the day. Yuuri just stares at him, uninhibited. There’s a certain kind of pleasure to watching him like this. Victor must know he’s watching. Victor must like that he’s watching. 

 

-

 

Breakfast with his family is a quiet affair, although Yuuri finds that he can’t quite look his parents in the eye. They eat breakfast and Yuuri ices his leg, and then he runs after Victor on his bicycle with Makkachin towards Ice Castle. 

They practice across the morning, and true to Victor’s many reminders, he prohibits Yuuri from practicing jumps, instead focusing on transitions, spins, and step sequences. Yuuri’s frustrated, feeling ridiculous to be knocked over so easily by a simple cramp, but he also doesn’t have the energy just yet to protest. 

His mind is most decidedly elsewhere. He stares at Victor’s mouth as he calls out orders to Yuuri, and all Yuuri can think about is the way Victor’s mouth looked stretched around Yuuri’s cock, the curve of his smile, the heavy weight of Yuuri’s cockhead pressing to his cheek, over his tongue, down his throat. He’s flushed from exercise, but also just thinking about it, how painfully he wants to do it again, how much he wants to return the favor. 

During lunch, Victor has Yuuri stretch his leg out on the bench, an icepack beneath him and pressing to his calf. Yuuri sighs, eating his food and watching Victor take a few turns around the rink himself. Yuuri watches him, the way the lights glint off his hair, the flex and slide of his body and muscles across the ice. It’s mesmerizing. 

After lunch, Yuuri launches into a toe loop. 

“Yuuri!” Victor calls out, sharp, and Yuuri knew he’d react that way but he couldn’t help it. Victor is frowning, frustrated, as Yuuri skids to a halt in front of the blocks, Victor frowning down at his notes and then back up at Yuuri. 

Yuuri can’t help but stare at the downturn of his mouth, the slope of his bottom lip, the bow of his upper lip. It’s distracting. He can only think of last night. 

It isn’t that he isn’t taking his practice seriously. He is. He has to. He only will get so many practices with Victor, only has this one season left, after all – and they have to be prepared for the Cup of China, have to be prepared for the rest of the Grand Prix series. He’s taking his practice seriously, he always will – always wants to get better, to push himself, to strive. To live up to the expectations that, somehow, Victor has in him. To prove worthy of all the time and attention that Victor is paying towards him. 

“Yuuri, honestly,” Victor sighs, tapping his notepad against the blocks, frowning at him. “I said no jumps.”

“I’m fine, really,” Yuuri says, even though his leg aches a little. It’s a pleasant ache, numbed by the ice pack twenty minutes ago. “You’re worrying too much, Victor.”

“And you’re not listening to your coach,” Victor shoots back, although he doesn’t sound annoyed, necessarily – more worried, than anything else. “It won’t do if you push yourself and end up getting a serious injury as a result.” 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri repeats, gently. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says, setting down his notepad and reaching out, grasping Yuuri’s forearms gently in his hands. It isn’t skin to skin, since Victor is wearing gloves, but Yuuri still feels a small thrill at Victor’s hands on him. “Your toe loop was sloppy.” 

“Because it’s the first one of the day, and in the afternoon besides,” Yuuri protests. “If I’d been able to do them earlier, I’d be fine. My leg’s stretched out.” 

Victor purses his lips, and that movement is distracting. His lips are a little chapped from the cold air. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn?” Victor asks. 

Yuuri knows it’s a rhetorical question but he still shrugs. “A few times.” 

“Hm,” Victor grunts, and then sighs and squeezes Yuuri’s forearms. “Fine. You can practice. But keep it easy. No quads.” 

“Fine,” Yuuri says, not pleased but at least willing to take the compromise. He shifts a little, slides his arms from Victor’s hands – but only so he can grasp Victor’s hands in his, looking at him steadily. “I’ll stop if it starts to hurt.”

Victor gives him a narrowed eyed look that betrays the fact that he doesn’t believe Yuuri, and likely for good reason since, indeed, Yuuri can be stubborn. Yuuri’s eyes dart from Victor’s eyes down to his mouth and then back up again. 

This time, Victor notices and he blinks once, and then tilts his chin down a little, looking at Yuuri with sudden deep consideration. He doesn’t draw his hands away from Yuuri’s. 

Yuuri considers, for half a moment, and then leans in slowly. Victor leans forward to meet him and Yuuri kisses him, a slow, simple slide. Both their lips are chapped and the air is chilled around them. Yuuri kisses him, gentle and slow – and draws back. Victor’s eyes stay shut for a second longer than necessary, before he blinks them open, and looks at Yuuri with such tender openness that it’s only then that Yuuri feels embarrassed. 

“Well,” Victor whispers, hushed, licking his lips. “I suppose we can switch to working on your short.” 

Yuuri nods a little, staying close. He glances around Ice Castle, studying the ice and all its grooves left from his practice. 

“Yuuri,” Victor tells him, his voice light and teasing, “Watch out.” 

Yuuri turns back towards him in confusion – and Victor leans over the blocks and catches Yuuri’s mouth again, kissing him again. 

“For good luck,” Victor murmurs against his mouth when he draws back, smiling. “Go land a salchow.” 

 

-

 

That night, after cooling down, stretching out, eating dinner, soaking in the onsen, and icing his leg one last time before Victor is satisfied, Yuuri follows Victor down the hallway. He stops at Victor’s door and Victor pauses, blinking at him in surprise. 

“Oh!” he says, and then looks delighted. 

Again, Yuuri isn’t sure where the confidence comes from, where the surety comes from – only knows that he presses Victor up against the wall in his bedroom and bites first at his mouth, then his jaw, then down his neck. He nibbles at Victor’s collarbones, pulling back enough only so Victor can yank his shirt up over his head for Yuuri. Yuuri runs his hands down his chest and swallows each of Victor’s desperate sounds through his kisses, cups his cock through his pants and strokes him to completion once he slips his hand under, drawing away enough to look at the come across Victor’s stomach, Yuuri’s hand. 

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers afterwards, sweat at his brow, eyes bright and open. Whimpers a little when Yuuri licks his hand clean, locking eyes with him this time. 

Later that night, after a few vigorous rounds, Yuuri drapes himself on Victor’s chest and breathes out. 

“Was it okay?” he asks, the air around them smelling like sex and sweat. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Victor answers, empathetic. His hands skim over Yuuri’s shoulders, the back of his neck. Yuuri feels himself relax slightly, sinking down against Victor. Victor hums and turns his head, kissing Yuuri’s cheek, then his temple, nuzzling into his hair. He is exceptionally cuddly and it’s a little overwhelming – but in the best way possible. Yuuri can’t remember being held like this before. 

He buries his face into Victor’s shoulder, his smile twisting and ridiculous – he must look so ridiculous – but the happiness is pressing up against his chest and he still isn’t sure how to express it. 

“Yuuri,” Victor sighs, soft and gentle and reverent. Yuuri nuzzles against his neck in answer. 

 

-

 

The next few days pass like that – focusing on training, practicing until the late hours. Eventually they hit Yuuri’s day off, where he’s meant to rest. Victor insists that Yuuri relaxes, soaking in the onsen for most of the morning. 

They spend the afternoon walking around Hasetsu, going to the beach and throwing sticks for Makkachin to fetch. 

And that night, Yuuri follows Victor to his room, as has become common. Yuuri can’t remember the last time he actually spent the night in his own bed. 

“Mmm,” Victor hums quietly beside him, a sleepy little exhale as he stretches out. Yuuri watches the way his body bows, and smiles to himself when Victor’s toes peek out at the bottom of the bed, curling and uncurling. Satisfied with the stretch, Victor turns onto his side and curls up a little, hair over his eyes and body deflating through a low exhale. 

The room smells like sex and in about an hour Makkachin will come scratching at the door to be let in so he doesn’t have to spend the night in Yuuri’s empty bed. For now, Yuuri feels thoroughly debauched, sweaty and sticky despite Victor using a washcloth he’d set out beforehand to wipe them both down. 

It’s still a little strange to be here in Victor’s bed. Yuuri doesn’t mind it – the opposite, really – but it’s still a strange thing to adjust to. He isn’t uncomfortable, but he isn’t comfortable, either. It isn’t his bed – his room is just a few steps away – but he’s welcomed here. Often, Victor keeps an arm draped over Yuuri. For someone who’s used to sharing a bed with no one, having to adjust to sleeping with a body octopused around him is still a work in progress. He’s woken up with bad neck cricks from sleeping against Victor’s shoulder. 

Still, it’s worth it, to see Victor relaxed like this. Not fully asleep yet, Victor blinks his eyes open – warm, soft, impossibly blue – and quirks a relaxed smile Yuuri’s way. 

“Yuuri,” he whispers, and Yuuri is never going to get tired of the way Victor says his name, the way he enunciates between each syllable, the way his name always sounds beautiful and warm and needed in Victor’s soft lilt. 

Yuuri thinks about kissing Victor again and starting over from square one. But Yuuri knows that Victor’s stamina isn’t as robust as Yuuri’s own, and he doesn’t quite feel bold enough to make demands while in Victor’s bed. 

But now that Yuuri is getting semi-regular sex, he finds that he really can’t stop thinking about it most of the time. It is, frankly, rather embarrassing. But also exhilarating to think that, somehow, Victor wants him. That, somehow, Victor is just as enthusiastic about sleeping with Yuuri, despite Yuuri’s complete lack of experience.

It’s mortifying. Yuuri shifts a little closer when Victor opens his arm up to him, curling up to Victor’s chest and resting his head against his shoulder. Victor dips his head and nuzzles at Yuuri’s shoulder – indulgent and a little ridiculous. 

It’s mortifying if only because Victor is, Yuuri thinks, vastly more experienced than he is. 

Victor’s hands shift down Yuuri’s back – a soothing, absent-minded gesture. It’s infinitely relaxing. 

“Was it okay?” Yuuri asks him. Belatedly, perhaps – they’ve lapsed beyond the afterglow and now Victor’s just tired, and maybe bringing up his inadequacies in sex after such a long lapse isn’t the best thing to do. But it’s been niggling at his mind. 

Victor kisses Yuuri’s shoulder with a small laugh. “It was great.” 

Yuuri isn’t sure if he believes him. He’s never sure. 

 

-

 

The thought comes to him, strange and untethered – rather than embarrassed at his lack of experience, he thinks, _This is just another first with Victor._

The first time he’s ever kissed someone, the first time he’s ever touched someone, the first time he’s ever slept with someone, the first time he’s ever touched someone’s cock, been inside him, had someone been inside him, pressed his mouth against someone’s stomach, hip, his—

All of that, with Victor. 

When he thinks about it that way – well, he’s still a little embarrassed, but it’s a warm, sated embarrassment, a glowing understanding that he knows that he’ll only ever have to be embarrassing in front of Victor, that Victor somehow still loves and wants him despite that. 

It’s almost overwhelming, almost too much. There’s that line to edge against, to determine what he can give, what he should give, what he is capable of giving him – knows that Victor would take whatever Yuuri wants to give him. 

He is fumbling, though. He knows that he is – thumbs unable to hook into clothes and tug, fingers fanning out over the warm, firm expanse of Victor’s belly. He doesn’t dare look up at Victor right now, pressing a slow, hesitant kiss to his neck, because he knows he’ll lose his nerve, or get distracted just looking at his open, flushed face. Victor is beautiful, and Yuuri is a fumbling fool. 

Or, at least Victor seems to be just as uncertain – his hands touching Yuuri’s hair, first too gentle, and then too grasping. He’s not unkind, but uncertain. He’s been a little uncertain with his hands ever since Yuuri turned to him and said, _Let me suck you off._ Victor, staring at him stunned before nodding quickly – eager, ready. 

Victor gives him a small smile, his fingers brushing Yuuri’s hair back. “Want to stop?”

Yuuri shakes his head, can’t help but laugh, too – flushed and embarrassed but _happy._ He grasps Victor’s hands and guides them to his waist, where they settle and hold firm. 

Yuuri leans in and kisses him – kisses him again and again, and Victor opens up to him, does what Yuuri sets, lets him lead the way. Yuuri doesn’t know how far to push, how much to do before dragging Victor in close, before sinking to his knees and touching Victor again and again until Victor only knows his name, can only say his name. The pleasure of that thought twists in Yuuri’s gut. 

“Victor,” he murmurs into his mouth before he can think to hold it back and Victor makes a soft sound, clinging to Yuuri as they kiss. Yuuri swallows the sound, sweeps his tongue at his lip, drags his teeth over his mouth. They kiss and they kiss, falling into each other – and Yuuri feels when Victor stumbles, the back of his knees hitting the bed before he goes tumbling and Yuuri goes tumbling after him. 

They land somewhat awkwardly, and Victor gasps out a little, breathless laugh. Yuuri feels it bubble in his chest where he’s splayed out against him – and soon Yuuri can’t help it, starts laughing too. They giggle, Yuuri squirming up to catch his mouth again and they swap kisses and laughter. 

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks, breathless when he parts from the kiss, voice laced with amusement. 

Victor nods and tugs Yuuri’s shirt off over his head. Yuuri bites his lip, flushed and smiling a little when Victor breathes out and drops the shirt aside, dragging his hands up Yuuri’s chest. 

“Good,” Yuuri tells him and then pins him down, hands dragging over Victor until he can strip his clothes off – still fumbling, but at least with the illusion of confidence now. When they are both naked, Victor presses up to Yuuri, their skin touching at every possible place. 

Victor gives him a soft look, expression warm and fond and Yuuri feels flushed all over. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Victor’s smile grows, and he brushes his nose against Yuuri’s. 

“How do you…” Yuuri begins and trails off.

“Whatever you want,” Victor answers, pressing a series of four light kisses against Yuuri’s parted lips. Yuuri shivers and rolls his hips forward so they slide together and Victor’s breath hitches and then he moans. “Ah, Yuuri…” 

Yuuri thinks that he’ll never get tired of hearing the way Victor says his name, in these moments. 

Yuuri draws away, scooting back and off the bed. He grabs Victor by his hips and drags him forward so he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread as Yuuri kneels down between them.

“Oh—” Victor gasps out, as if he’s about to protest, reaching for Yuuri.

Yuuri catches his hands, threads their fingers together and twists one so he can press a kiss to the tendons at Victor’s wrist, looking up at him. 

“Let me,” he commands, with far more strength and surety than he thought he had – and Victor swallows, pupils blown wide, face flushed – the flush trailing down his neck and over his chest – and nods. 

“Alright, Yuuri,” he whispers, voice hushed and breathless and _so pleased._ Victor is always painfully easy to convince when it comes to sex. 

Yuuri cushions his hands against Victor’s thighs and feels the flex and pull of his muscles. He licks his lips and reaches out a tentative hand to curl around Victor’s cock. It’s thick even while half-hard like this, and it only takes a couple strokes to coax it to plump up in his hand. Victor shivers, full-bodied, the flush blooming across his collar. 

Yuuri, feeling bold, looks up at Victor as he strokes his cock, twists his hand. They lock eyes and Victor doesn’t waver, just drinks in Yuuri’s expression as Yuuri moves. That, more than anything, makes him feel powerful. He thumbs at the head of Victor’s cock just to the watch the way Victor’s eyelids flutter. 

“Yuuri,” he whispers, just as Yuuri ducks his head and takes the head of Victor’s cock into his mouth. 

Victor gives a muffled little shout and Yuuri hums with pleasure. He doubts it can be this good, doubts that Victor can already enjoy it that much – knows the sounds he’s making are more encouragement than genuine enjoyment. Yuuri doesn’t know much about what he’s doing, but giving a blowjob seems pretty self-explanatory, and he’s not about to embarrass himself by asking Victor how best to go about it, or what he’d like best. 

He does, however, like the challenge – but goes too hard, too fast. Yuuri tries to press closer, to swallow down around him – and has to back off with a soft gasp, choking out. 

Victor’s fingers card through his hair, soothing, and Yuuri can already guess that Victor is going to tell him to slow down, but he refuses. 

He pins Victor down by his hips and angles his head down, sinking his mouth over Victor’s cock – pushing himself down as far as he can go without his body protesting, curling his mouth and tongue around him. He isn’t used to this, can’t be used to this – but he’s determined. He chokes a little, has to pull back before pushing himself further. 

“Yuuri—” Victor says, and it’s a gasping breath as well as a warning, to get him to slow down, to pull back – but Yuuri _refuses_ , is determined to make Victor feel good.

He looks up at him, and he instead of getting embarrassed when he sees the way Victor stares at him, mouth slack, face flushed, Yuuri only preens, only feels a deep, pleasured pride in knowing that _he_ is the one to render Victor into such a state, that _he_ is the only one who will see him like this. 

He twists his tongue over Victor’s cock, and he’s sloppy and uncertain, but what he lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm, makes up for because Victor is accommodating and, somehow, wants Yuuri and only Yuuri. So Yuuri will give that to him. 

“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice is reedy, a warning laced through the sound of his name. But Yuuri doesn’t listen, grunts out when Victor tugs gently on his hair to try to guide him off. 

He curls his tongue around him, drags his mouth over the length of his cock. He can keep going. He _will_ keep going, until Victor dissolves into a quivering, moaning mess. 

And he does. Victor is loud with his praise – breaths huffing, moans eclipsing his attempts at saying Yuuri’s name, a few muffled shouts when Yuuri hollows his cheeks and attempts to drag Victor’s cock deeper into his mouth. 

Victor touches the back of his head, his hair. “Yuuri,” he gasps out. “I’m going to come.” 

Yuuri looks up at him, hesitates for a moment – wants to swallow him down, wants to drink him in. But Victor tugs again, draws Yuuri off his cock. Yuuri tries to linger still and lingers too long. 

When Victor comes, it’s on Yuuri’s face. The come splashes across his cheek and into his eye. He flinches, eyes slamming shut and he hisses out. He doesn’t stop stroking Victor through his orgasm, though, and Victor is a shaky, jerky mess in front of him as his body shudders. 

The come on Yuuri’s cheek is warm and sticky, and his eye stings. 

It’s everything – he feels blissed out just from performing this service for Victor, just from seeing the way Victor’s face twists when he comes, the flutter of his eyelashes, the sharp bite of his fingers in Yuuri’s hair. If he was mesmerized by the way Victor looks with come on his stomach, on his hand, it’s nothing like the feeling of Victor _coming on his face._

Like he’s marking him. _I’m yours,_ the thought comes to him, before he can second-guess it, and it makes him feel warm all over. He tries to stop himself from thinking it, but the next thought comes following the other, _You’re mine._

Yuuri, kneeling on the tatami matt before Victor, hands on his hips, suckling him down. He has this power – the ability to render Victor so speechless, so boneless. The ability to make Victor say his name like it’s a prayer, like Victor is about to lay worship to him, when it is Yuuri who is here before him. He never wants to be without this. 

He still doesn’t know how long Victor will stick around, after everything is said and done with his coaching – but so long as he has Victor’s time, he will always want to do this for him. 

“Oh,” Victor says, and there’s the barest hint of embarrassment in his voice. Yuuri looks up at him to see Victor flushed, staring down at Yuuri with wide eyes at his cheek, at the string of come at his eyebrow, along his cheek. 

Shakily, Victor reaches out his hand and drags his thumb over Yuuri’s cheek, cleaning him off. 

“Sorry,” Victor croaks out, voice high and reedy. 

Yuuri doesn’t have the words to say it’s alright, to ask him to do it again, to ask him to lick the come off him instead, to stop so he can take a picture and save it to look at it again, to send it to Victor. 

Instead, Yuuri rises to his feet, leans heavily against Victor, and drags his mouth against his. 

All Yuuri can think is that he wants to do that again.

 

-

 

A few days later, at dinner, Yuuri and Victor are eating dinner when Yuuri watches Victor’s face tense up, jaw clenching. He breathes out sharply and draws himself up. 

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks around his chopsticks, brow furrowing. 

“Oh,” Victor says, with false cheer. “Nothing. Just, my leg is cramping up a bit.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows lift up. “What?” 

“I guess I didn’t stretch well enough today,” Victor says with a small, thready laugh. 

Yuuri’s leg has been fine since the cramp he got a few weeks ago. Nothing serious came of it, once he stretched more and got the larger water bottle for practice. In the end, Victor had been hyper cautious, and perhaps hat was a good thing. Considering his relative inexperience as a coach in general, at least he could understand the importance of his athlete’s health, having lived through that himself. 

Now, Yuuri gets up from his spot at the table and circles around to sit beside Victor. Victor is dressed in one of the inn’s robes, and his calf is bare, and Yuuri can see the knotted up muscle. 

Yuuri tuts and then sits beside Victor, reaches out, and kneads harshly into the calf. Victor lets out a sharp breath but doesn’t cry out. 

“Stretch,” Yuuri orders. “Breathe.” 

Victor obeys, stretching his leg out across Yuuri’s lap and breathing out. He keeps his eyes shut and he’s better at even breathing than Yuuri is in this situation. Yuuri massages the muscle, gentle and soft, mindful not to cause more damage than need be. Slowly, Victor’s leg starts to relax, the painful flex of his toes starting to ebb away until the leg is just a twitching, warm mass in his hands, aftereffects of the cramp. 

Yuuri smiles. “Ah. Perhaps I should make you take an ice bath?”

Victor laughs out. “Yuuri’s so cruel.” 

Yuuri laughs, too, softer, sliding his hands over Victor’s leg in a sort of intimacy he never thought he could be capable of. He squeezes Victor’s knee gently, slides down over his calf and shin, and squeezes his ankle for good measure. Victor lets out a slow, decadent sigh. Yuuri feels his ears turn pink. 

“Oh, it hurts so much,” Victor says in a way that betrays how much it doesn’t hurt – just a typical cramp, and smaller than the one Yuuri got a couple weeks back. “What will I do?” 

Yuuri’s mouth twitches. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Oh no, I won’t even be able to get up the stairs like this.”

“I guess Makkachin and I will just have to sleep in my room alone, then,” Yuuri says with a sigh. 

Victor freezes up, and then brightens up. “Yuuri, you’re teasing me!” 

Yuuri coughs and digs his knuckles hard into the side of Victor’s leg to distract him. Victor lets out a soft, surprised gasp. 

“If you can make it upstairs,” Yuuri says, flushed. “I’m sure I can help take your mind off the… ah, the pain.” 

He looks away sharply, his entire face heating up when Victor makes a strained sound of surprise again. 

“Yuuri!” he gasps out. 

Victor scrambles to his feet, grabs Yuuri’s hands, and practically drags him upstairs. If he hadn’t felt the knotted muscle himself, Yuuri would be sure that Victor had just been faking it earlier. 

But that’s how Yuuri finds himself sucking Victor off as Victor leans back against the wall, his inn robe open at the ties and slumping low over his hips. Yuuri runs his hands over his hips and grips tight. He lets out a soft moan as he sucks and slurps around Victor’s cock. He hasn’t done this too often yet but he’s determined to do it well, determined to make it good for Victor. He knows he’s no good. He knows he hasn’t any experience with any of this but he wants to be better, he wants it to be good for Victor. So good. 

He laps at his cock, using his tongue and lips and mouth – needing and wanting more, always needing so much. 

Now that he can do this, he can’t get enough. It’s easier to be the one doing this. When Victor sucks him off, he can’t help but get distracted, wanting to tug on his hair but not sure how tight to tug, not knowing what to do with his hands, not knowing if he should warn him he’s coming, if he should yank Victor’s head away, if he should do something other than rock up into his mouth. 

Like this, though, he feels more in control, feels that thrill of knowing that he can drag these sounds from Victor, feel how hard he is against his mouth, know how much he wants this, how much he can’t get enough of Yuuri. Somehow, Yuuri. 

“Yuuri,” Victor moans out, a breathy little gasp and Yuuri looks up at him, watches the way Victor bites down on his lip, face twisted up in his pleasure – and there is nothing more beautiful than that. Victor rocks his hips forward, presses his cock deep into Yuuri’s mouth, and it’s good. He’ll never grow tired of this. He only wants to get better at this. 

Yuuri hums out, makes it messy, doesn’t care that he’s leaving sloppy kisses down the length of Victor’s cock, suckles at the head, curls his mouth, strokes him off, drags his lips. He wants it all – he can never get enough, there’ll never be enough. Victor’s cock is perfect and beautiful and thick and curves towards Victor’s right and it’s devastatingly beautiful and devastatingly wonderful to have in his mouth. 

Victor pants out his name, shuddering a little, hands threaded painfully tight through Yuuri’s hair. 

He draws away from Victor’s cock and Victor whines out, a soft whimper. 

Yuuri smiles up at him. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. Your leg…”

Victor hiccups out a small laugh and nods, stumbling over towards the bed, lets Yuuri push him down and crawl up over him. Yuuri drags his hand over Victor’s cock and Victor groans out. 

Yuuri smiles – he might actually smirk, he isn’t sure, the action feels so foreign to him – and he leans after Victor, pressing his forehead against his own. 

“We have to be quiet,” Yuuri tells him. “My family lives here.” 

Victor huffs out a breath and rocks his hips up so that he slides against Yuuri, who is hard and aching. Yuuri gasps out a soft, hitched moan. And Victor puffs out a hushed, breathless laugh. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says again, as if that is the only thing he knows how to say – and Yuuri preens again – and then tips forward to catch Yuuri’s mouth in his. Yuuri almost protests, thinking it must be strange to taste himself on Yuuri’s lips. But Victor doesn’t seem to mind, sucking and licking into Yuuri’s mouth, arms wrapped around him to keep him close. 

When Yuuri does draw back and move back down to his cock, it’s with renewed force of will. He runs his hands over Victor, cups his hips, cups his balls, cups his thighs. He’ll never get tired of touching him. He laves his tongue over the sensitive skin of Victor’s balls, sucks at the underside of his cock, curls around him and bobs his head down. He’s moving mostly on instinct, what he’s seen Victor do to him, seen in porn, embarrassingly – and mostly just following what he thinks must be good, responding to the sounds Victor gasps and hitches out. So far, Victor hasn’t complained. He isn’t sure if Victor would, if Yuuri was really mediocre at this.

He tries to banish those thoughts and focus on the taste and weight of Victor in his mouth. He glances up at Victor and Victor is grinning at him, helplessly, sloppy and boyish and devastatingly handsome – sweat at his brow, hair clinging to his temples, his nose and cheeks and ears red. 

“Can I move?” Victor asks in a hushed whisper. 

Yuuri nods and Victor cups the back of Yuuri’s head, rocks his hips up into Yuuri’s mouth. He’s gentle and slow, the movements shallow so as not to choke Yuuri. Yuuri sighs out around his cock, slides his mouth down over the cockhead, suckling. 

“I’m close,” Victor whispers out when Yuuri finally starts getting a rhythm he can follow. The memory returns to him in a flash – that feeling of come on his face. He closes his eyes and keeps going, feels the way Victor’s body shivers and shudders beneath him.

He tries to time it, tries to feel the moment Victor comes. He’s a bit slow on it, can taste come on his tongue. He draws back and the rest of it hits his lips, splashes across his chin. He gasps out, open-mouthed and panting, and he tastes the come against his tongue, his bottom lip, a few drops falling onto his chest. 

He cups Victor’s hips and stays close, feels the cock against his lips, sliding against his cheek for a moment as he nuzzles, and then he ducks his head and presses into Victor’s hip, breathing out shakily. He feels overly warm, and sticky. He loves it. 

When he looks up at Victor again, Victor looks embarrassed – cheeks flushed, frowning a little at Yuuri’s mouth and chin. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have warned you sooner.” 

Yuuri shakes his head a little.

“I’ll get you something to clean up,” Victor says, sitting up.

“No,” Yuuri says, a little too quickly, reaches out and presses his hand against Victor’s chest – pushing him back down. He clears his throat, licks his lip – and tastes Victor’s come. “Let me. Your leg…”

He sits up a little, fishing around for his discarded shirt.

“Yuuri,” Victor says. When Yuuri turns back towards him, Victor just cups his cheeks and leans in, licks at his chin once and then licks into his mouth, cleaning him that way. It’s sloppy and sticky and, really, Yuuri should find it disgusting – but he just moans out helplessly and kisses him back, throwing his arms around his neck and tether Victor close. 

 

-

 

Yuuri doesn’t talk to him about it. He doesn’t know how to bring it up, really. He doesn’t know how to tell Victor that he wants it, that he wants Victor to purposefully come on him like that. It’s too embarrassing, somehow too decadent. They sleep together most nights – their hands, their mouths, sometimes Yuuri buried inside Victor. Victor’s leg get better, a small cramp that’s gone by the next day. They practice. _Yuri on Ice_ gets stronger. _Eros_ more streamlined. Victor eats katsudon and rubs Makkachin’s belly. Yuuri watches him and falls more and more in love and tries to tell himself not to, because it cannot last. Cup of China comes closer and closer. 

Yuuri ducks his head and swallows around Victor. Tries to deepthroat him and fails, choking out and having to draw back with a short gasp. 

“I bet the people you’ve been with before could do it,” Yuuri mutters when Victor tries to reassure him. 

Victor’s expression turns slightly pinched and he scratches at the back of his neck. 

He pushes Yuuri down and tries to deepthroat him. He can’t manage it and has to draw back with a soft laugh. 

“See? It’s not easy,” Victor says, smiling cheerfully despite both of them being tragically, tragically hard. Yuuri still seems slightly terse about it and Victor slinks up to his side, curling his arms around his waist and nuzzling into his neck and then his shoulder, planting a few stray kisses along his collarbone. “Yuuri,” he whispers, in that gentle lilt he always says his name in, “I haven’t… Yuuri, you’re the only one that matters. You know that, right?” 

Yuuri gives him a slightly opaque look. Victor laughs, but it doesn’t sound like his usual laugh – slightly too high, slightly too reedy. 

Yuuri turns a little more towards him. Touches his cheek. Fans his thumb across his cheekbone. 

Victor’s expression softens and he leans into the touch. 

“… That’s alright, isn’t it?” Victor asks him, and what an absurd question to ask. 

Yuuri leans in and kisses him as answer. 

 

-

 

“Hey,” Victor warns, tugging at Yuuri’s hair gently in warning. “I’m going… Yuuri—”

Victor tries to draw Yuuri back, but Yuuri stays close, stubborn, licks and sucks and coaxes him over the edge with a low groan. Now he knows Victor’s tell, knows the way his hips tense up is the last step – and when he feels it beneath his hands, he draws back in time for Victor to heave out a heavy moan and come across Yuuri’s face. It hits his cheeks, slides down against his lip and Yuuri absently sticks his tongue out, licking it away before any precious drop can fall. 

And it’s perfect. Yuuri moans out, weakly – so pleased, so blissed out, his cheeks flushed happily. 

But when he opens his eyes, Victor is frowning at him. 

“Yuuri,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

Yuuri shakes his head, breathing out. Can’t Victor see it? Can’t Victor see how happy he is like this—

Victor studies his face, his thumbs pressing to Yuuri’s face – about to wipe the come away before Yuuri frantically shakes his head. 

“Wait,” he tells him, wants to feel it for a moment. “Wait…” 

Victor freezes, and then stutters out a small nod. He drops his hands away. Yuuri breathes in, closes his eyes and sinks forward, pressing his forehead to Victor’s shoulder. Some of the come smears across his shoulder, but Yuuri doesn’t mind. He hopes Victor doesn’t, either. 

It takes about a minute more before it starts to feel itchy and Yuuri draws away and lifts his hand to wipe across his cheek – but Victor beats him to it, thumb passing over Yuuri’s face, collecting away the come drying there. 

By the time he’s done, Yuuri’s face is a bright, burning red. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says. “Why do you…?” 

He trails off, frowning, as Yuuri lets out a small, embarrassed squeak. He covers his face with his hands and doesn’t look at Victor. 

“Yuuuuuuuuri,” Victor sings out, quietly, running his fingertips along Yuuri’s wrists and down his forearms, teasing and light. He leans in and kisses the crown of his head and nuzzles into his hair. “Don’t be embarrassed! I’m the one who keeps doing this…”

Yuuri shakes his head again, but allows Victor to cuddle up to him, sliding his hand down his chest, over his stomach. He cups Yuuri’s cock and strokes him slowly. It only takes a few light tugs before Yuuri’s dropping his hands from his face and huffing out soft moans against Victor’s neck. Yuuri comes into Victor’s hand with a soft gasp of his name. 

They stay slumped together like that for a while after, waiting for Yuuri to catch his breath and to let his heart slow back down again. When he draws away a little, Victor is smiling at him gently. 

Then, he lifts his hand, still slick with Yuuri’s come. It’s an offering, Yuuri realizes. He flushes up to his ears. Victor – Victor must think he’s strange. He must. 

Yuuri turns away, catches his shirt off the ground and holds it out to Victor. 

Victor laughs. “Yuuri, it’s alright. I can go wash it off.”

“I want you to stay here, though,” Yuuri says and drapes against him. Victor laughs warmly, not at Yuuri, just a soft breath of delight. He nuzzles against Yuuri’s ear. 

“Wow,” he whispers, his smile small but delighted. 

Then lifts his hand and licks it clean. Yuuri can’t even watch, he’s too busy dying from all the blood in his body rushing to his face. 

 

-

 

Afterwards, they’re stretched out in bed, Victor cuddling absently with Yuuri, Victor’s chest to Yuuri’s back. Yuuri watches the way Victor traces his fingers idly over Yuuri’s stomach and chest, intricate little patterns, the swirls of step sequences. 

Yuuri smiles to himself, sleepy and sated. But his mind is still racing. He breathes in and then breathes out slowly. 

Yuuri turns towards Victor in the bed and Victor lifts his arm to let Yuuri move so that they’re facing one another. Yuuri whispers, “Victor?”

“Mmm?” Victor hums, voice laced with sleepiness.

Yuuri lifts his hands, traces them along Victor’s chest – mimicking Victor’s earlier movements, if only to give his hands something to do, so he won’t seem so trembling and shaking. He licks his lips slowly, uncertain. Breathes in and breathes out again.

“Will you… do that to me again?” he finally manages to ask, a hushed whisper.

Victor opens his eyes with a confused hum, looking at him. “Do what?”

Yuuri bites his lip again and powers through, pressing up to Victor, his fingers hooking over Victor’s shoulders. “Will you…” he trails off, embarrassed, and gestures to his face, unable to say, _come on me_ and instead saying, “that?” 

Victor blinks slowly at him, the sleepiness slowly bleeding away and replaced with a complete lack of comprehension. 

“I don’t understand, Yuuri,” Victor finally says, and sounds apologetic. And does, for his part, look rather blank. 

Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath and squirms closer, ducking his head so he can press his face into Victor’s chest and say, “Come on me.” 

There’s a long silence that follows in which Yuuri is fairly certain that he’s going to die. Victor is very quiet and very still against him. Yuuri is about to pull back and apologize and slink back to his room to sleep there alone for the first time in literally weeks and then slowly, slowly let himself die of embarrassment.

But then Victor curls his arms around him instead, hugging him. Victor asks, hushed and difficult to decipher, tone-wise, “You like that?” 

Yuuri doesn’t answer right away and Victor takes the moment to turn his head, kissing Yuuri’s temple – crushingly tender and sweet. 

“Y… yeah,” Yuuri finally mumbles, his ears bright red. Victor kisses one. “Sorry.” 

“No!” Victor answers. “Don’t be! It’s cute!”

“ _Cute_?” Yuuri squeaks. 

Victor turns them so that he’s lying on his back with Yuuri on top of him, Yuuri resting his chin on Victor’s chest. Victor beams at him, his face a little pink as he studies Yuuri. He lifts his hand, petting through Yuuri’s hair, pushing it back from his face. 

“I guess I could have guessed,” Victor finally manages. Then asks, “You really like that?”

Yuuri’s beyond the point of embarrassment now, so embarrassed that he’s transcended to a new plane of existence. It might help that Victor is not reeling back in disgust, but seems more curious than anything else. Yuuri presses his chin agains Victor’s chest so Victor will keep petting through his hair, and nods. 

Victor hums, and tilts his head. “Wow! Okay,” he says, thoughtful. “You should have told me sooner, Yuuri! Then I wouldn’t have had to worry so much.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says. 

Victor scritches his nails across Yuuri’s scalp and Yuuri shivers, closes his eyes, and sighs. They lapse into a silence like that, Victor just petting through Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri’s quite certain he could fall asleep. It’s relaxing, to feel this at peace, to be this familiar with Victor and Victor’s body – to be this comfortable in Victor’s bed. He likes it. He doesn’t want it to end, wants to hold onto this feeling for as long as he can. 

 

-

 

Which is how Yuuri finds himself now, kneeling before Victor, who strokes him off slowly. Yuuri looks up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, but mouth curved up into a smile. 

“I’m close,” Victor warns. “Ready?” 

“Yes,” Yuuri says, breathlessly. 

He watches Victor, clenches his hips until he feels the tension build there. Watches Victor until he closes his eyes and lets Victor come on his face. He’s shaking apart just from that, wonders if it’s possible to come just from that. 

His body is sore from all the practice, from kneeling on his protesting knees. His heart is so full he think it’s going to burst completely. Victor comes on his face and then kneels down afterwards, kissing Yuuri’s neck, his jaw, then licks into his mouth, messy and close. It’s everything that Yuuri could want.

They’re cuddling afterwards in Victor’s bed – their bed now, really – and Victor strokes his hands over Yuuri absently, comforting. Yuuri has never felt so treasured, never felt so peaceful. What a strange, lovely feeling it is. 

“Will you try it on me?” Victor asks suddenly and Yuuri startles. 

“What?” he peeps out. 

“Will you?” Victor asks, blinking. “You always seem to really like it… maybe I’ll like it, too?” 

Yuuri lets out a breathless, slightly higher-pitched than normal laugh. He can’t really fight the urge to lurch upwards and kiss Victor – messy and uncertain. Victor returns it with a soft sight, melting beneath Yuuri. 

They swap kisses, unhurried. Yuuri likes to think that he knows Victor’s responses now, knows when Victor is relaxed, knows when there’s something on his mind. He plays with Yuuri’s hair, then sweeps his hands down his back, cups his ass and drags him in closer. Yuuri squirms up, goes willingly – kisses him deeper. 

“Um,” he whispers, once they part. “I can try.” He tilts his head with a small laugh. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, though. It’s a little weird.” 

“I don’t think it is,” Victor tells him, overly earnest. 

Yuuri smiles at him indulgently, certain he’s lying just to make him feel better. 

“Let’s do it, then!” Victor chirps. 

“What – right now?” Yuuri asks. “But you’ve already—”

“Oh,” Victor interrupts, cheeks pinking. “I know that I might need a little more time. But, ah, I’ve said it before – Yuuri, you’re really quite spectacular when it comes to your stamina.” 

Shamefully, Yuuri knows he could get hard in a moment, if Victor were to touch him. Or to suck him off. Thinking about coming on Victor’s face is—

He blushes so much. 

“Okay,” he says, and his voice sounds throaty to him, overly affected already. Victor lights up. 

And that’s how Yuuri ends up like this, standing over Victor now, his cock in Victor’s mouth – and there’s a certain power there. When he drags his cock over Victor’s cheek and Victor is there, waiting, waiting for Yuuri to come on his face. There’s a strange kind of vulnerability and certainty in knowing that Victor wants this, trusts this – wants and trusts this simply based on how Yuuri responds to it in turn. 

Yuuri touches Victor very purposefully, pushes his hair far away from his face before he comes across his mouth and lips, makes sure that it’s out of the way. It’s so soft in his hold, pinned to the crown of Victor’s head. Victor opens his mouth wide and makes a soft sound when the come hits his face. His nose wrinkles a little. 

Yuuri can’t help it – he laughs a little, seeing Victor’s reaction. It’s different, to watch someone you love on their knees like this. He wonders what Victor sees, when he sees Yuuri on his knees. He pets his fingers through Victor’s hair as Victor strokes Yuuri through his orgasm, lets the come rest across his lips before he licks it away. Yuuri purposefully aimed low, not wanting to risk hitting Victor’s eyes or hair. 

“Hm,” Victor hums once Yuuri is spent.

Yuuri’s mouth twists up into an amused smile. “Didn’t like it?” 

“Oh!” Victor is quick to defend and Yuuri luxuriates in the attention Victor pays him, wiping his mouth first before he nuzzles against Yuuri’s neck and into his hair. “It’s not that, Yuuri! It’s different!” 

Yuuri hums, playing with Victor’s hair as Victor continues to press kisses against his flushed skin. 

“It’s alright, Victor,” he says and finds that he means it, “I’m not going to be insulted if you thought it was weird.” 

Victor draws back and studies his face. Yuuri smiles and leans forward, bumping his nose to his. 

“You pushed back my hair,” Victor says instead of admitting anything. 

Yuuri, who’s kept a firm hand on Victor’s fringe to keep it from flopping forward into the come on Victor’s cheeks, actually rolls his eyes. “You’ll thank me later. I see how much attention you give your hair.” 

Victor laughs, eyes bright and that same impossible blue that Yuuri loves so tenderly. His heart might actually _ache_ for a moment. He draws away enough for Victor to finish cleaning his face off before he lets go of his hair. 

They kiss – slow and gentle, Yuuri cupping Victor’s cheeks. Victor holding Yuuri in his arms. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Victor tells him between kisses and Yuuri doesn’t know what to say.

“Was it okay?” Yuuri asks him.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers against his mouth, “You’re perfect.” 

For once, despite it all, Yuuri finds that he believes him. If only for a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), if you want.


End file.
